


Proxy

by Ebyru



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe, Angelcest, Angst, Apocalypse, Bondage, Dream Sex, Dubious Consent, Explicit Language, Innuendo, M/M, Mindfuck, Multi, Nightmares, Non Consensual, Rape/Non-con References, Season 4 Spoilers, Season 5 Spoilers, Sexual Violence, Sibling Incest, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-05
Updated: 2012-03-05
Packaged: 2017-11-01 12:46:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/356956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ebyru/pseuds/Ebyru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has decided to take Lucifer up on his offer. Sam and Castiel are left trying to bring him back to their side, while avoiding Michael and The Fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Proxy

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, just assume this story has a million spoilers (even if it doesn't), and every bad thing under the sun.
> 
> There is NO MPreg or gender/sex swapping or under-aged activity, though. I assure you of that. And hey! No one dies, either.
> 
> Enjoy?

They’ve come a long way from _just_ being John Winchester’s boys.

 

Dean’s made a name –a fake one, perhaps—for himself all across the States. Women know him for his charm, his caring nature (though he tries to hide it), his body. Men know him for his strength, his reliability, his skill. And in Heaven it’s no different, really.

 

All of the smite-crazy angels know him for his rebellion, his inability to put the good of _all_ before the survival of a select few (Sam, Bobby, Castiel).  Anna knew him in the same way the women on Earth did; allotting him her feelings, and her body. Unfortunately, she turned out to be equally as insane as Zachariah and the rest. Castiel may be the only angel Dean would ever die for. Castiel knows Dean, trusts him, almost as much as Sam does. They weren’t Team Free Will for nothing.

 

Dean is still ever-willing to discard his life at the chance to save any of the people he cares about. Screw the world, screw people, if they can’t tear their hands away from their cellphones long enough to sense the approach of the _real_ Apocalypse.

 

Dean’s been watching his brother, that’s how he knows it’s coming. Sam has been feeling it for weeks, hasn’t been able to rest peacefully for just as long. Or maybe that was due to the gentle whispers from Lucifer. Dean’s noticed, of course, how jumpy Sam’s become, how tormented Sam’s gaze is in the morning, how little Sam’s been smiling.

 

Heaven’s heavy hitters, their _big guns_ , come at Dean full force then; they want to prevent the battle from starting with only one side in the running. The begging, the bribing, and the pleading starts. Dean’s not a child, and he’s not a fool either. He doesn’t like what they’re offering; it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. Heaven is obstinate, though. The bribery soon turns into tricks, warnings, _threats_.

 

If Dean doesn’t accept Michael, the world will end by Lucifer’s hand. Dean doesn’t bother with that; Team Free Will could find a solution. If Dean doesn’t become Michael’s vessel, they will torture him. He’s been through it, though. He’s been to Hell and back already. Then there’s the ultimatums he does respond to: the ones involving Sam being killed, resurrected, then, killed again. _As many times as it takes_ , Zachariah says.

 

Dean’s starting to lose track of who the good guys are.

 

Then, Sam is in a cold sweat again, peering around the room like it’s missing some _key_ element. There’s no doubt in Dean’s mind that he’s looking for Lucifer. He doesn’t bother asking Sam if he’s okay or what happened; Dean knows the answer is, and will always be, ‘no’. Sam may be openly sensitive, but he’s not weak-willed. If anything, he was the stronger of them. That’s what scares Dean.

 

_Here by my side, an angel  
Here by my side, the devil_

 

 

Heaven pushes harder, Dean pushes back, and Sam does the same against Lucifer. Castiel is trapped in the middle, but not powerless. He helps Dean escape Zachariah’s grasp, he watches over the brothers when they sleep, but Dean tells Castiel to worry about Sam instead. Castiel, then, puts up barriers in Sam’s mind, hoping they will be strong enough to slow down the ex-archangel—at least temporarily.

Castiel is next to Sam’s bed, watching the younger man take in some well-deserved rest.  Castiel looks at Dean, but he’s not frowning like he has been for the past week, so it must be a good sign. Finally, Dean can stop worrying about Sam’s struggle against the Devil, at least for tonight.

 

Dean’s mind slowly drifts into slumber, the alcohol working as a channel, a conduit to ease the passage. The last thing he sees is Castiel still watching over Sam, and that’s all he needs to slip into a deep sleep. The room is unchanged; Sam is still asleep, Castiel is at his bedside, Dean is lying in bed. It’s the air that’s different. It’s thick, suffocating, binding him to his mattress.

 

Dean tries to warn them, but they don’t react no matter how loud he screams.

 

“Shh, Dean. You’ll just hurt yourself.”

 

The voice startles Dean, but the smog-like air is keeping him pinned down. He forces his head to the opposite side, finding a man at the edge of his bed with his legs crossed.  But it’s not a man, he’s sorely mistaken. It’s a monster; Dean can tell even through the human clothing. It’s another of those angels, but one of the worst: Lucifer.

 

“So smart,” Lucifer looks up into Dean’s eyes, smirking, “I’m impressed. Really. It took Sammy a whole day to realize who I was.”

 

“What do you want?” Dean growls, struggling against the invisible hold, wanting more than anything to hurt this _thing_ making Sam lose his mind. “Sam will never say—”

 

“But he will,” Lucifer hisses, suddenly right in Dean’s face, his fingers curling around Dean’s wrist. “I promise you he will. Or _you_ will.”

 

“What are you talking about?” Dean swallows, Lucifer’s eyes watching the lump slide with difficulty down his throat.

 

“I’ve come to offer a deal,” Lucifer leans in, inhaling the scent of fear and rage interchanging on Dean’s skin. “It’s a way for your precious Sam to finally be free of the whole apocalypse business.”

 

“How could I trust you?” Dean snaps, flinching when Lucifer’s tongue darts out, the two points tickling along his jaw.

 

“See,” Lucifer draws back slightly, “I much prefer your— _vessel_. I know you’re the ‘good’ one, and Heaven is just dying to get their hands on you, but now that I’ve been watching you from Sam’s mind, I’m intrigued.” His fingers wrap tighter around Dean’s wrist, holding it above his head. “And I know Michael is pining for you in a weird, dutiful way. If I got my hands on you first, that could do terrible things to his plan. Don’t you agree?”

 

Dean turns to look at Sam and Castiel frozen in time. They’d promised each other they wouldn’t falter, wouldn’t give in, no matter what. There’s no harm in inquiring, though, is there?

 

“What do you want?” Dean utters, tearing his eyes away from Sam.

 

“I just want to use your body for the fight,” Lucifer drags Dean’s other wrist above his head, his gaze ghosting over Dean’s skin as though it were fingers, “And maybe something else.”

 

“No!,” Dean spits, his eyes narrowed with disgust. “Why would I help you destroy half the planet?”

 

Lucifer grins, leaning in, “what if I say I don’t intend to?”

 

“What do you mean? Your fight with Michael will kill millions of people,” Dean clenches his jaw, keeping his eyes closed.

 

“I think if I’m using you, Michael will be done in no time. And then I will quietly return to Hell for a nice, long _talk_ —among other things—with my brother Michael.” He puts up a finger when he remembers a detail, “And since I’ll just be going back home to have a little unadulterated fun, I won’t need to use your body anymore.”

 

Dean feels violated and guilty just from hearing the fallen angel say that. It twists his stomach even more that he doesn’t _dislike_ the idea of it. It’s the best proposition he’s had from either side.

 

“What about Sam? Where will Michael go if I say yes to you?”

 

“Adam, silly,” Lucifer clucks his tongue, playfully poking Dean’s bicep afterwards. “He’s already much closer to saying yes than you ever would be. And if Michael takes him, with his _diluted_ blood, there’s no way I can’t make quick work of my brother.”

 

That’s right; the half-brother who refuses to acknowledge them as part of his family. Dean doesn’t really care about Adam, not if he’s willing to sacrifice millions of people without even _considering_ there might be another way.

 

Dean is fuming just thinking about that disgrace to the Winchester name.

 

“Ooh,” Lucifer grins, crossing his arms, “I love the passion, Dean. Sam might be more vocal about his emotions, but yours run deep, burn hot. They make me feel all warm and fuzzy. I can’t wait to get inside you.”

 

Dean ignores the double entendre to the statement.

 

“I haven’t said anything yet,” Dean snaps, trying to shift his body away from Lucifer.

 

“Like I said, you will. Otherwise, I will break that sorry excuse for a wall in Sam’s mind and then _him_. And I will go through my plan exactly how I told you. Just with your brother’s body, and a few million more deaths.” Lucifer smirks, scratching at the back of his head. “It’s up to you, really.”

 

“How do I know I can trust you? Why would _anyone_ trust you?” Dean says, grinding his teeth together. He can’t let Lucifer know how close he is to accepting his offer.

 

“Aw, Dean. That hurts,” Lucifer droops, putting a leg underneath his weight. “Just because people say bad things about me doesn’t make me a liar, does it? I mean, sure, I lie. But aren’t you going to lie about this whole conversation with Sam once you wake up?”

“Okay,” Dean mutters. “But I won’t let you anywhere near my body until the day of the battle.”

 

“Not even a little,” Lucifer purses his lips. “I mean, look at you. Even Michael would lock you in a room with no windows and do unspeakable things to you.”

 

Dean is relieved he can’t feel nauseated or vomit in a dream because he is very close to one of those two things.

 

“I’ll tell you what,” Lucifer smiles innocently, “I’ll come visit you in another vessel one day, a pretty one, and if you can resist me then, I won’t force myself on you. And I will wait like a good little Devil until the battle to speak to you again.” He looks up at the ceiling, sighing. “I’m even surprising myself with my kindness today.”

 

“What’s with you, seriously? And what makes you think I won’t still know it’s you?” Dean feels the pressure over his skin begin to fade, and drops his arms.

 

Lucifer stands from the bed, craning his neck to look at Dean once more, “That’s a good point. I’ll have to try harder, I guess. Just a warning, I’ll probably be in a male vessel. Not that it seems to bother you much.” He laughs, licking his lips, “I’ve seen how you look at Castiel, and even Sam.”

 

Lucifer’s long, throaty laugh bounces off the walls, echoing throughout the room, and hits Dean like an assault. In the next moment, his eyes are open and Castiel is touching his arm gently, his lips pressed in a thin line.

 

Dean can’t tell Castiel about Lucifer. He can’t tell Sam either. Lucifer was right; Dean’s the worst monster of them all. Maybe they were always meant to slot together like bullets in a gun.

Castiel says a lot of things while Sam is asleep, mostly about why Dean looked like he was in pain the entire time he slept. Nightmares—that’s the excuse Dean comes up with—as though nightmares can begin to compare to the stifling, impending doom that is Lucifer creeping into your subconscious mind. The look on the angel’s face doesn’t change, but his eyes say that he knows Dean is lying. As long as it doesn’t interfere with Team Free Will though, Castiel is willing to let every half-truth pass under his heavenly radar.

 

Sam wakes up a few hours later, looking normal for once, and Dean releases all of the pent up tension in his chest. After a few more restful nights, the dark circles under Sam’s eyes are gone, his smile is returning, and his posture isn’t stiff and uninviting anymore. Dean leans over and pats him on the back, just to test out his nerves, and when he doesn’t jump at the touch, Dean finds he can’t see any reason not to give his body over to Lucifer.  As long as it doesn’t involve them having sex.

 

Team Free Will is crumbling, though, as Dean stubbornly keeps the unfortunate secret in.

 

Dean gets just as much rest as Sam, but is always ready for a reappearance by his new business partner—the Devil.  He’s surprised after a week when he still hasn’t had a visit from Lucifer, or the angelic _assholes_ upstairs, but he doesn’t let his guard down. Michael most likely lost interest and turned to Adam when Lucifer made his claim, and Dean accepted—even if it wasn’t official.

 

 

 

_Here by my side, you are destruction_

_Here by my side, a new colour to paint the world_

 

When Sam finds a case to solve, and they go to a bar for some distraction and eavesdropping, Dean knows he looks suspicious.

 

Sam is staring him down, sipping at his beer. Dean knows this is when he’d either be looking around for a girl to bang, or making eyes at them from afar so they approach him. Sam knows Dean doesn’t flirt when something awful is going on, and even then, it has to be an _epic_ proportion of awful. Dean shifts in his seat, remembering what Lucifer said— _a male vessel._ He also added in the word ‘probably’, so he could be one of the women at this bar, and Dean really doesn’t want to end up picking him up by accident. But if, by some fluke, Lucifer does keep his word and is a man, Dean can’t really imagine he’d ever let Sam know he plays for both sides in _this_ way.  

 

Sam’s been so good to him; he’s always trusted Dean, always kept his chin up for him, confided in him. Sam’s most likely the reason Dean can even fathom being with another man. It’s probably why he feels attracted to anyone who even remotely reminds him of Sam. Dean can’t just find a guy who looks like Sam’s doppelganger, leave with him, and not explain to his baby brother that he’s a (probable) switch-hitter—even if it is to make it seem like everything going on in Dean’s life is perfectly normal.

 

Then, a worse thought slithers its way to the front of Dean’s mind. Lucifer might just show up in his usual vessel, out in the open, and Sam would recognize him instantly. Dean would be left with the choice to either pretend he doesn’t know who the guy is or spill what he’s been hiding, because Sam can see through even his best masks. Sam most likely wouldn’t forgive him, couldn’t, and Dean would be left feeling sick and guilty at this bar filled with strangers he could care less about. Dean’s not ready to face that option either.

 

A woman it is, then.

 

Dean glances around the bar for a worthy lay, a babe up to his usual standards—even if he’s in no mood to actually _do_ any physical activity with her. He could probably just bring her somewhere else and pretend like he slept with her; it’s not like Sam would question him, or wants to know the details of Dean’s one-night stands.

 

This girl with dark, brown hair catches Dean’s eye. Sam looks over and sees her, a small smile on his face as he takes another sip of his beer. Dean is already almost in the clear, he can tell. Sam fixes his shirt and gets up, saying he needs to use the bathroom. Sam’s doing it on purpose; he wants Dean to invite the girl over and talk to her. Dean wants anything but to do that, though.

 

Dean looks away, and when he looks back, the girl is watching him quietly, the same small smile Sam had on his lips, and Dean feels it like a blow to his temple. Why couldn’t she _not_ be like Sammy so he could resist her? Dean sighs, swallowing enough beer for two mouths, and when he looks back she’s walking towards his table.

 

The woman isn’t being overly flirtatious, but she’s definitely confident, and she knows how to move to get Dean’s attention locked onto her hips swaying. She sits down, offers to buy Dean a beer, and her smile kills him a little inside. She doesn’t ask Dean’s name, and, likewise, he doesn’t want to know hers. It’s always best when they know it’s not going to be anything more than tonight.

 

After a few more beers, Dean wonders where Sam went off, and spots him further away chatting with the bartender in his usual, friendly way—he’s trying to get information for the case. Dean is very close to telling this woman he has to be somewhere, and that no matter how talented her tongue is he can’t go home with her, until she leans in and presses a soft kiss to the corner of Dean’s mouth.  Something about her, that sweetness, the sex appeal that’s natural and enticing, makes him unable to refuse when she asks to leave again.

 

The woman offers to drive if he can provide the vehicle. She explains that she came to the bar with a friend, but her friend was now chatting it up with a tall, brown haired man at the bar. She needed a lift back. Dean is kind of bothered at this point that he doesn’t know her name. When they step into the Impala, the woman only having had one beer, she drives off easily in the direction Dean tells her.

 

Dean can’t believe all it takes is curvy hips, a shy smile, and a kiss to the corner of his lips to let someone drive his baby. Or maybe it was the fact that Dean needed someone to desperately hide his lies from himself. Or perhaps if he didn’t let this stranger drive, they might end up in a car accident, and his baby would be no more.

 

If she’s going to drive his car, she’s going to need to give him a name, too. Dean points to a motel, and, as casually as he can, he looks over at her and smiles, “What’s your name?”

 

“Lucy,” she says quickly. “Nice to meet you. Is this where you’re staying? Not from around?”

 

Dean swallows, watching her eyes flash from intrigued to excited, to something else he can’t quite pinpoint, but it seems like a good thing. _Lucy_ , though, that bothers him. That sounds drastically close to someone else’s name, someone he really hopes he didn’t just invite back to his motel room.

 

Lucy tilts her head and offers a smile, “Aren’t you going to tell me your name?” She turns off the ignition, handing Dean the keys.

 

“Dean,” he answers without thinking. He looks her over, feeling _something_ in his gut, but the alcohol is making it hard to decipher what it is. She seems harmless enough; she reminds him of Sam for crying out loud. How evil could Lucy be? “You want to come in? Or would you rather stay here for a while?” Dean can’t figure out what he’s asking, what he wants, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

“Let’s go in, Dean,” she slips out of the driver’s seat, locking the door, and closing it gently. “It’s kind of chilly tonight.” She shivers, rubbing her bare upper arms.

 

Dean nearly trips over his feet as he rushes to wrap his jacket around her shoulders. It’s not like they’d even be outside long, really. What’s with this lady, this Lucy? She makes him do things he hasn’t done since high school.

 

Lucy bows her head, a slight flush to her cheeks, “Thanks. Which room are you in?”

 

All of a sudden, Dean can’t remember how he climbed up the stairs, but Lucy’s tongue is down his throat, and he likes that, even if he can’t see the key hole to unlock his room properly. She whimpers against his parted lips, hands roaming over his back and down his hips. Dean can’t pull away, but he has to if he doesn’t want this show to become very public, very soon.

 

Lucy voices the loss of contact, curling her fingers into Dean’s side, already trying to pull his t-shirt off. Miraculously or not, Dean gets the door open, and finds a worried Castiel sitting on his bed.

 

“Cas,” Dean squints, pushing Lucy aside gently, “what are you doing here?”

 

“Dean!” Castiel shouts, his eyes wide and blue like the depths of the ocean. It’s never a good sign when his pupils disappear like that. “Get away from him!”

 

“What are you talking about—”

 

Dean turns around slowly, and Lucy is suddenly not a woman at all, but that cocky, thin man that Lucifer is using as a temporary vessel. He can’t get the words out, knows they’d do no good at this point, but he just can’t believe it.

 

“I thought you were smart, Dean,” Lucifer says, crossing his arms and leaning against the closed door. “Guess I’m just that much smarter. You should have listened to your instincts.”

 

Inviting the Devil into your home was by far worse than inviting a vampire in.

 

“Dean,” Castiel says quietly, his voice wavering as he continues, “Why didn’t you just speak to Sam about this?”

 

“Uh-oh,” Lucifer says, smirking, “sounds like a little trouble in paradise. This should be good.”

 

“What are you talking about, Cas? Tell him what?” Dean can’t say it, not now, not like this, not when Sam isn’t around to hear it, too.

 

“I’ve known for quite some time. About your deal with Lucifer,” Castiel says with a hesitant tone. He sounds frightened.

 

Dean moves away from Lucifer, worried he might do something while Dean tries to explain to the angel.

 

“Why—I’m sorry.” There’s no point going around in circles when Lucifer is right behind him, living, breathing proof that he’s been lying the entire time. “I was going to tell you both at the right time. I just couldn’t figure out when that was.”

 

Dean looks over at Lucifer who just shrugs a shoulder.  He gestures for Dean to continue, “Go on, Dean. I think you should confess now. Tell him how much you love him.”

 

“What?” Castiel narrows his eyes, grabbing at the fabric of his jacket with balled up fists. “Is it true?”

 

“No,” Dean chides, “He’s lying. Why would you believe the Devil, Cas?” It’s better to hurt his friend now than to face being the one hurt in the end by his rejection. Dean knows angels don’t just fall for humans like that, especially not ones they are in charge of.

 

Lucifer growls behind Dean, grabbing him by the throat, “How dare you accuse me of lying just to keep your weak, frail emotions unharmed?” He throws Dean on the closer bed, Sam’s, “I’ll show you how much I’m lying.”

 

Castiel considers flying away, but that would leave Dean alone in the room with Lucifer. He considers trying to put up a fight, but that might end in his untimely demise; they haven’t come up with a way to stop the apocalypse yet. He stands tall instead, watching Lucifer stride up to him and grab him by the throat like he had Dean.

 

“You don’t love this angel? I can do what I want then, yeah?” Lucifer smirks in Dean’s direction, watching Dean rub at the marks on his throat.

 

Lucifer squeezes Castiel’s throat until he hears bones crunching below his fingertips. When he loosens his grip, the angel instantly begins to heal, the bruises on his neck disappearing. The Devil’s grin widens; it’s so much more interesting when it’s someone who can actually take the punishment. Castiel can’t move, even if he would like to, because Lucifer is holding his arm.

 

Dean watches with his brows drawn together, wondering what Lucifer intends to do to another angel who can heal just as quickly as he’s hurt. He needs to find a way to stop this though, before Lucifer kills Castiel. He looks around the room for a weapon, but there’s nothing. Then, he remembers his bag;  he has a knife in it, he could probably use that to distract Lucifer. If he can just slip off the bed and get to it—

 

“You sure you don’t love him, Dean?” Lucifer taunts, not waiting for a reply before drawing back his arm and punching Castiel in the chest. He makes sure to hit Castiel in the heart, making it stop, then, when it jumps back to life, he does it again, causing the angel to wheeze and crumple in half each time. And each time, Lucifer picks him back up, aims for his heart, and punches harder than the last time, drawing out the amount of time it takes for him to heal.

 

Dean leans over the bed, reaching for the knife, quietly, not tearing his eyes away from the onslaught. He can do this, he has to.

 

Lucifer hits Castiel in the jaw after, watching the blood spurt out and across Dean’s bed. He likes the way it flitters through the air like a butterfly, landing on a flower design on the comforter. He punches again, harder, trying to make the droplets fall on the same spot. Castiel’s face is swelling, but he pounds his fist against the already broken jaw bones again, and again, until it’s not only blood but teeth falling out of Castiel’s mouth.

 

“Wait—” Dean whispers, his voice catching in his throat. He takes his chance, grabs the knife, and stands.

 

“What? I didn’t hear that?” Lucifer holds Castiel by the back of his neck, ripping his shirt open. The angel is swaying on his feet; he’d probably be on the ground by now if Lucifer wasn’t holding him up.  Castiel’s eyes flutter closed, having taken too much damage for him to recover yet. Lucifer admires the vessel his younger brother chose. Unfortunately for Castiel, he’s not satisfied with just looking.

 

Lucifer drags Castiel by the throat, tightening his hold when he feels the muscles healing under his palm; he can’t have Castiel screaming out like some pathetic human. Lucifer drops his ex-kin down on the smattering of blood on Dean’s bed, scraping his fingernails down Castiel’s bare chest, digging into the pale skin until the red liquid oozes out thickly, making his mouth water. “If you don’t love this guy, I think I will for you.”

 

Castiel whimpers when Lucifer climbs atop him, straddling his hips, leaning over to lap up the trails of blood sliding down Castiel’s ribcage. Dean shakes his head, tears welling up in his eyes, he wants to scream for Lucifer to stop, but can’t get his voice to work—Dean realizes that’s probably what the Devil planned when he grabbed Dean before.

 

Dean rushes in, ramming the cold, metal in Lucifer’s shoulder, but it does nothing. Lucifer pushes Dean back on the bed without batting a eye, without physically touching him. Dean is back to square one.  Lucifer pulls out the ineffective knife, dropping it on the side where Dean can’t reach it. He doesn’t acknowledge Dean’s devastation in the slightest, instead resuming his aggression to his kin.

 

Lucifer hums, biting into Castiel’s neck, his fingers tangling in his hair to keep Castiel’s lidded eyes on Dean’s disheartened face. If Dean wants to pretend like nothing is going on between him and his angel, then he’ll have to learn how to either act _well_ or know when to admit defeat. His little attack wasn’t even worth considering.

 

“He tastes so good, Dean,” Lucifer sucks at the bruises he gave Castiel earlier, pushing his legs apart with his knee roughly. “I don’t know if I can stop,” he unzips Castiel’s pants, pulling the languid cock out and jerking it dry, hard, fast, making sure to press down on the angel’s windpipe with his other hand.

 

When Castiel coughs and blood drips onto Lucifer’s hand, Dean can’t take anymore. “Okay! I love him, I love you Castiel. I’ll do anything, just stop this, please,” Dean is leaning closer to Castiel, disappointed with how much suffering it took for him to admit the truth. The two of them can’t even fight Zachariah, how could they possibly win against Lucifer.

 

“Took you long enough,” Lucifer teases, “I thought I was going to have to waste such a beautiful vessel to prove a point.” Castiel is still wheezing, so Lucifer pulls back, settling on the beaten angel’s lap. He climbs off, standing in the middle of the room. “Get over here, Dean,” he rolls his shoulders, his hands on his hips.

 

Dean is afraid, they all know that, but he’s more afraid of what will happen to Castiel if he stalls, so he paces over to where Lucifer is standing. Dean waits for instructions standing across from him, and has an idea of what to expect if the angel lying on the bed with a battered face is any indication.

 

Lucifer rolls his eyes at Dean who is trying not to shake, “I’m not going to kill you, dude. I said I wanted your body, and I meant it. And see, a second ago, you just said you’d do anything.” He slides a finger along Dean’s cheekbone. Dean sees nothing but red; the blood, the pain, the anger, and the touch is just bringing it all to the surface. “I like that look, I really do. It makes me weak in the knees.”

 

“What do you want from me?” Dean spits. No amount of fear can keep his rage from spilling out first, it seems, “I already said yes.”

 

“And you said yes, again, just now,” Lucifer leans in, gently pulling Dean closer, “I want you, and I want your smouldering angel to watch.”

 

Dean is already preparing to say no—

 

“If you say no, I will enjoy fucking your precious Castiel in every position I can think of. And trust me, after all these years in Hell, I’ve become _very_ imaginative.” Lucifer watches Dean closely; Dean looks away. “I guess that’s a yes then. Take off your shirt.”

 

Dean pulls his shirt off, throwing it behind him, keeping his eyes on Castiel still unmoving on the bed, but his face looks less swollen already. Lucifer takes that moment to slide his palms down Dean’s chest, paying extra attention to his stomach, purposely dipping his fingers into Dean’s pants. Dean’s eyes snap back on Lucifer’s face when he makes a hissing sound, and he pushes Dean to his knees.

 

“You, my sweet whore, are going to suck my cock,” Lucifer says without pretense, “And you’re going to enjoy it, or fight it, but you’re going to do it in the end.”

 

Dean closes his eyes, his brows nearly touching from the irritation bubbling under his skin. He hates this vile creature, he can’t believe he thought it would ever be _easy_ to just say yes and get through the apocalypse. Nothing is ever easy. But at least Castiel is safe, this way.

 

“Keep that up and you won’t have to suck long,” Lucifer purrs, dropping his pants and bringing Dean’s mouth forward. “Open wide,” Dean grumbles, but complies. His first time with a man wasn’t supposed to be like this, wasn’t supposed to be the fucking _King of Darkness_.

 

When Lucifer grabs the back of Dean’s head, Dean knows he’s going to regret ever being born a Winchester. The cock rams down his throat too fast for him to adjust; he chokes, and Lucifer sees this as an opportunity to push further, to shove in deeper, sneaking past Dean’s gag reflex. Lucifer’s moans are unfairly human for something so _not_. Dean grabs Lucifer’s hips, if only to slide the cock back out far enough to take a breath, but Lucifer doesn’t much care for breathing, even when it’s his future vessel. He forces Dean to stay in that spot and take it longer. When tears begin to stream down Dean’s cheeks, Lucifer withdraws, his hold still in Dean’s hair possessively.

 

Dean pants, wiping the corner of his mouth, frowning at how insanely hard Lucifer is. How much longer is this going to take?

 

“Oh, Dean,” Lucifer coos, “If only I could take you back to Hell with me and show you a _real_ good time.”

 

Dean’s gaze trails up, scowling at Lucifer like he’s just another monster that needs to be _ganked_.

Hell. If ever there was a word Dean wishes he could burn from every dictionary on the planet that would be the one. But glaring at the Devil like you would anyone else, in this situation, really could only make matters worse.

 

“God, I love you right now,” Lucifer hums, dragging Dean’s partly open mouth all the way down his cock. “Feel free to complain darling.”

 

Dean knows that’s exactly what Lucifer wants, so he doesn’t. He takes the it fully, lets it hit the back of his throat, uses his muscles to coax the stiff flesh into releasing, but no matter what he tries, it’s not working. Lucifer moans, looking over at Castiel momentarily, seeing his face is all healed, but the marks on his chest aren’t, and that, mixed with the spiteful look on Dean’s face, makes Lucifer come so hard that he doesn’t notice his fingers are around Dean’s throat again until Dean’s red in the face.

 

“Oops,” Lucifer chuckles, “Sorry ‘bout that. I got distracted.”

 

Dean rubs at his throat, hoping this is the end of his service to the Devil for the night. He looks over at Castiel, a much more welcome view, taking in the disheveled image he might never have the pleasure of seeing again once this is over. Castiel is an angel, he’s a good one at that, he can’t just turn a blind eye to a human accepting the Devil into his life, even if it is his one and only charge.

 

Team Free will is close to its expiry date.

 

Lucifer makes clicking sounds with his tongue, as though he’s calling a pet over, and Dean looks at him, only to find his erection reborn and bobbing happily in front of his month.

 

“Are you kidding me?” Dean says dryly, “My mouth can’t take any more of that.”

 

“Oh, no, not your mouth, Dean,” Lucifer lifts Dean from the ground with one arm, tossing him on the bed like he’s nothing but a stuffed animal. “I did say I wanted your body. I meant all of it.”

 

Castiel makes a small sound as he watches Lucifer slide up Dean’s body like a snake. Dean tries not to look into those blue eyes, not when he looks so heartbroken and abused, not when Dean is confused and in love with those eyes. Lucifer grins, looking over at the half naked angel. “You’re enjoying the view, aren’t you? You’ll thank me later, Dean.”

 

This is not the man he wanted on top of him—not that Lucifer is an actual man, but his vessel is. This is not the scenario he had in mind when he pictured Castiel or Sam naked in the motel room with him, walking him through his first time. Nothing about this makes him want to ever be with a man again, really. And it’s upsetting because Castiel finally knows exactly how Dean feels for him.

 

Lucifer may have been patient up until now, but gentle play is over. He pulls down Dean’s pants, nearly ripping the seams apart in the process, and Dean slips out of his underwear before Lucifer can destroy them as well. The expression on his face says all Dean needs to know; Lucifer likes the look of Dean’s body without clothing. And if the cock poking, trickling pre-come against his thigh is anything to go by, Dean won’t have to be subjugated much longer.

 

In the next moment, there’s a tongue somewhere too personal: in his mouth. Lucifer growls when Dean tries to turn away, and pins his wrists above his head. The belt from Castiel’s pants snaps undone, and lands in Lucifer’s open palm. He wraps Dean’s hands in the tight leather, securing his wrists to the bedpost. Lucifer smirks at the incessant scowl on Dean’s face, and Dean pulls against the belt, trying to somehow change _anything_ that’s about to happen. No such luck.

 

Lucifer’s tongue dips into his mouth again, swallowing the protests, his throbbing cock jabbing into Dean’s naked flesh repeatedly. “I hate you,” Dean mumbles, his jaw locking due to the seething below the surface of his skin.

 

“Tell me how much you love me some more,” Lucifer laps his tongue over either of Dean’s nipples until they’re both upraised and sensitive. Dean hates his body even more than Lucifer.

 

Dean can’t watch the smug look on Lucifer’s face when he successfully makes him shiver so he looks over at Castiel instead. The angel is, luckily, almost completely healed, save for the mental trauma he’s currently going through. Castiel frowns, worrying his lip, his hair still a mess of strands, some standing up, the rest sticking to the sweat at his brow. Dean should have never looked at him with Lucifer’s tongue doing so many things to his skin; he can feel himself getting hard.

 

Lucifer laughs when Dean bites down on his lip to keep in a moan. Lucifer found one of his sensitive spots—it’s right above his pubic hair. “Right here?” The ex-archangel pokes at the skin softly, circling it just to watch Dean try to squirm away from the touch.

 

“Fuck you,” Dean snaps, fighting against the belt cutting the circulation of his wrists.

 

“No, I think I’ll be doing that to you soon,” Lucifer smirks, pressing his face hard against that spot, sucking and gnawing at it until Dean can’t even _try_ to hold the sounds in. If he’s going to suffer anyhow, he might as well enjoy the sight of Castiel some more. Dean stares at the angel, taking in the milky skin of his chest, the dark nipples, the reddened lips, the flushed cheeks, and the curve of his cock peeking out of his pants.

 

That can’t be right.

 

Dean gazes at that spot, that one area, trying to figure out if he’s seeing correctly. Then Castiel shifts, and the angel’s pants are wide open with a flick of Lucifer’s wrist—not even looking up from the spot he’s bruising with his lips—and Castiel’s cock is bare and in sight, and so obviously hard, Dean almost feels bad for looking so intently.

 

“See that,” Lucifer says, pushing Dean’s legs apart and putting both his feet flat on the bed, “You guys are made for each other. If Castiel can accept sharing you with Sam, that is.”

 

Dean opens his mouth to let Lucifer have a few pieces of his mind, but all that comes out is a loud mewl when Lucifer’s tongue darts into his unused entrance, driving past the tight ring of muscle. Lucifer dips his tongue in deeper, spreading Dean’s ass wide enough for Castiel to see—if he had the nerve to lean over just a bit.

 

“I love virgins,” Lucifer curls his tongue inside Dean, purring when Dean’s pucker opens for him all neatly and easily like he expects it to. Dean’s body is more than willing, it’s just his mind that doesn’t want to give in.

 

Lucifer can see the eyes following his tongue, both Dean’s and Castiel’s, both men battling against their raw desire tooth and nail. Dean’s legs fall apart against his will, and Lucifer doesn’t think it can get better than that. He grabs either leg, his fingers biting into the skin behind Dean’s knees, and he drives his cock in with one swift, unexpected motion. Dean cries out, and Castiel stands, not sure what to do.

 

“Relax,” Lucifer waves a hand dismissively, “I’ll heal him myself if I have to later.”

 

Then the impaling begins, and Lucifer’s hips snap forward, then forward, then deeper, and against Dean’s prostate. Dean is sick and tired of being torn between lust and anger so he picks lust. And that’s all it takes for Lucifer to lean in, claim Dean’s lips, and fuck him senseless into the creaky mattress with his eyes closed, Dean’s legs dangling over his shoulders. Dean looks over at Castiel—who’s still standing—and watches the little slides of his palm up and down his erection, his own resistance cracking along with Dean’s.

 

Dean pulls against the belt, the clinking of it against the bedpost driving him insane, while Lucifer buries his face in Dean’s neck and sucks. He thrusts into Dean harder with each moan, his nails digging crescents all over his legs, his stomach and his arms. Lucifer’s eyes go dark, just like the demons Dean hunts, and Lucifer grunts, lifting Dean off the bed to fuck him in the air, bouncing him on his cock.

 

Dean can’t even form full thoughts at this point, his mind reverting to a wild, uncivilized state. Castiel is stroking his cock so fast, Dean can’t even keep track of the movement, and Lucifer rips off the belt holding Dean’s wrists back so he can hold on to something. Dean fists into Lucifer’s shirt, hating the darkness in his eyes and how much it frightens him and rips his insides apart with need all at once.

 

“I hate you,” Dean retorts, with less anger than the first time.

 

Lucifer hits his prostate one last time, and Dean’s orgasm explodes, splashing warm between their bodies. The dark eyes peer into Dean’s soul—or that’s what it feels like—and Lucifer snarls when he bursts inside Dean for the second time. At least this time, Dean doesn’t have to try and swallow it while he can’t breathe.

 

Dean is dropped back onto the bed, limbs uncooperative and heavy, and Lucifer slips out the front door with a smirk from here to China, tucking himself back in. Dean hates him so, _so_ much in this moment, words cannot even begin to describe. But he still hates himself more.

 

 

 

_Help me, I broke apart my insides_

_Help me, I’ve got no soul to sell_

_Help me, the only thing that works for me_

_Help me get away from myself_

 

 

 

Sam smiles and turns away from the bartender when she tells him everything she knows.

 

There’s a lady next to him and he didn’t even notice when she sat down, but she is watching him with delight. This is usually how people are with Dean, not him.

 

She leans closer, resting a hand on his arm. “Can I help you…” Sam says quietly.

 

“Maybe you can,” she answers just as softly. “Buy me a drink? I’m new in town.”

 

“Sure. I’m new too,” Sam calls the bartender over, ordering two beers.

 

The woman thanks him, her smile bright as she tastes the cool beer. Sam knows there’s something about her that seems—not off—just _different_. Before he knows it, they’re staring into each other’s eyes, and she’s leaning in closer, her hand at the small of his back as she circles the skin there. Sam’s gaze darts from side to side, trying to read her, trying to understand why she doesn’t seem human. Her fingers untuck his shirt, slipping beneath the fabric. He fights the shiver with every fiber in his body, unsure why he’s so intent on doing so himself. She’s just a woman trying to seduce him, right?

 

Her fingers roam a little higher, dragging down his back, and he hasn’t looked away, not even for a moment. Sam moves in closer, pretending to like the attention, but really just wanting to figure her out. Her eyes are a dark shade, but not frightening like Lucifer’s, her hair is light and wispy, she has freckles over her nose and cheekbones, and the smile she’s wearing is hard to mistake for anything else but _need_. Sam moves away when he realizes what’s going on, who she’s trying to be, who she basically looks like; Dean.

 

“What’s wrong?” She says, resting her hand at the small of Sam’s back, toying with the toned skin there.

 

“I just—I just need some air,” Sam reaches for her hand, placing it on her lap gently. He takes out two bills for the waitress, putting them down in front of his glass. “It was nice meeting you, Michael.”

 

 

_You can have my isolation_

_You can have the hate that it brings_

_You can have my absence of faith_

_You can have my everything_

 

 

Dean has the Impala, and Sam can’t take going back in there and being confronted—or seduced—by the archangel any longer, so he steals the first car he sees. He won’t let it become habit, not while the planet is still fully populated at least.

 

Sam drives, and drives, and prays that Dean isn’t still with that girl he picked up, because he really doesn’t want to be alone anymore for the rest of the evening—not when angels and archangels are coming out of the woodwork like insects. He keeps looking in his rear view mirror to make sure he isn’t being followed by that specific angel, and it seems odd that Heaven would approach him at all, really, because didn’t they see him as impure due to the demon blood? They must really be running out of options if they want Sam, Dean is much stronger—

 

Sam presses on the gas, ignoring the speed limit entirely when he draws a disturbing conclusion from this turn of events. He isn’t going to just leave the possibility out in the open without confronting his dumbass big brother about it first.

 

Up the stairs- Through the door- In the room- But Sam still feels like he’s outside looking in.

 

Dean is on Sam’s bed, holding his head, Castiel is on Dean’s bed, his coat stained with blood. Neither man is looking at each other or acknowledging that Sam is in the room. Sam can practically feel the pain, the frustration, the stench Lucifer leaves behind, so he already knows the answer to that question.

 

“Dean,” Sam says, dropping his bag on the floor, “Are you—okay?”

 

“No, Sammy,” Dean shakes his head, not looking up. “I’m not fine. Nothing is fine, especially not what just happened in this room.”

 

Sam swallows, stepping closer cautiously. Even though he wants to be mad, it’s difficult to scold someone when they’re so _damaged_. Dean’s spirit is gone; Sam can see that clear across his features and the lines of his body, not to mention his trembling hands. Castiel seems to be in the same kind of state; his pupils blown, his face marked, his body shaking.

 

“What happened?” Sam utters. Castiel looks at Dean. Dean laughs in a twisted, dark kind of way.

 

“Lucifer, Sam. Lucifer came here, and—and—” Dean’s voice hitches as he looks up into Sam’s hazel, concerned eyes. He can’t tell Sam what happened. Sam probably can’t forgive him already.

 

“He violated Dean,” Castiel interjects, keeping his gaze on the floor, “because Dean wanted to protect me.”

 

Sam is there in a flash, squeezing Dean to him, ignoring the hands trying to pry him away. Even if Dean doesn’t need this, _he_ needs this, desperately. The past few weeks have been nothing but shit for all of them. Castiel watches Sam still holding Dean and he wishes he could have surmounted the shock, the ill sensation throughout his body long enough to have done the same.

 

Dean wishes he could have warned them the moment something snapped inside of him, but he can’t be held accountable for his actions anymore, not when Lucifer has won, is winning, and gets to have everything he wanted in the end.

 

“Stop this, Sam,” Dean shoves Sam hard enough for him to fall on his ass, “I’m tired of you pretending you don’t need to be taken care of. I did it, alright? I made a deal. You’re free.”

 

“What?” Sam gets off the ground, not moving closer in case Dean decides to shove him again.

 

“I’m going to be Lucifer’s vessel,” Dean says, “And he will win, and then go back to whatever hole he crawled out from. It’ll be quick and painless, and you can just lie low with Castiel until it all passes.”

 

“What’s wrong with you,” Sam shouts, “we’re a team. We were all supposed to fight this together. How could you just turn your back like this and leave us in the dark for—how long has it been?”

 

“Weeks,” Dean mutters,” that’s why you haven’t been bothered in your sleep.”

 

“Weeks? It’s been weeks, Dean? And you couldn’t open your goddamn mouth and tell us?” Sam is in Dean’s space, looking down at him—in all senses—his face contorted with anger and betrayal.

 

“Fuck, Sammy, I did this for you,” Dean moves away from Sam before either of them throw a punch, “I did this for Cas. I did this for our little, hopeless team.”

 

“And what happens when it’s all over? The devil will just gladly give your body back, and slither into Hell?” Sam crosses his arms, seeing Castiel bent over in his peripheral vision.

 

“That’s what the deal was,” Dean grabs his phone, shoving it in his pocket.

 

“And you believe him?” Sam answers flatly. He knows Dean is about to leave, but he can’t think of a way to stop him.

 

“Of course I don’t, but this was the only way to save you and Cas, and the rest of the planet,” Dean puts on his jacket, “Can’t you just let me do the right thing for once?”

 

Dean turns to look at Sam who is still glaring at him, but hints of worry and compassion seep through, too. Castiel can’t tear his eyes away from the blood stains on the floor. Dean’s eyes flitter to the spot for a second, and suddenly everything is too hard to deal with; the memories, the sounds, the pain, the pleasure, Sam, Cas, the _world_. But one thing he can deal with is Lucifer, as demented as it sounds.

 

“Please, Dean,” Sam pleads, feeling his eyes threatening to drown him in tears, “don’t go. Don’t give in to this. Why were we fighting so long if you’re just going to say yes? And to the wrong side.”

 

“The wrong side?” Dean asks incredulously. “Do you not remember what those dicks upstairs have been doing? Have been _trying_ to do? They nearly stopped us from ever being born, Sammy,” he fixes his collar, “Maybe that would have been better than this.”

 

It’s enough. It’s unbearable watching an angel Dean loves trying to crawl into himself to forget ever having witnessed what Lucifer did, and participating in it so gladly. It’s unbearable watching his brother that looks up to him, knows he’s usually the stronger one, and seeing the agony of realizing he was wrong all along—that Dean is nothing but an infant, willing to kill the whole planet to save a handful of people. Even if it means making a deal with the Devil.

 

Adam isn’t that crazy after all, he’d chosen the good side.

 

Dean is out the door, and Sam is shouting for Castiel to go after him, drag him back, use his powers, but the angel is like an empty shell.

 

Castiel can’t stop the pain from surging, didn’t know he could feel this deeply until today, can’t figure out how to shut it off, turn it down, tune it out—anything that will make his mind begin to work like it used to. Sam is still shouting, but Castiel can’t even hear that over the recollection of Dean’s moans and yelps, the remorse and sadness tinting Dean’s voice when he stopped Lucifer’s rampage, the fondness with which he looked over at Castiel to make the physical contact that much more bearable.

 

Sam is shaking Castiel, but he stops when the angel’s eyes peer up and find his own. He really is nothing but an empty shell.

 

 

_Angel or demon_

_I gave up my soul,_

_I'm guilty of treason_

_I've abandoned control_

 

 

Dean takes the Impala when he sees the random car in the driveway, putting two and two together. He’s driving with nothing but fifty dollars and his cellphone for company, and that’s what he needs right now. Lucifer is lurking around, definitely, but he’s giving Dean his space for the moment, and for that he’s grateful.

 

Dean keeps his foot on the gas, driving until his body feels weak with sleep, driving until the flashes of what just occurred are buried deep below the overbearing silence of the night. He pulls over next to a spot with enough trees to hide the car until morning. Police and muggers really couldn’t bother Dean after all he’d just faced. Somehow, that thought is comforting and he falls asleep with his head leaned against the cold glass of his window.

 

“Dean,” Lucifer nudges him, “enjoying your sleep?”

 

“You’re in my dreams, again,” Dean says flatly, “so, no.”

 

“Oh, well. That’s not my fault,” Lucifer replies, “I told you if you failed my test, I’d be back. So now I get to bother you as much as my dark, little heart desires.”

 

Dean is unaffected at this point; Sam and Castiel already know so the worst is out.

 

“No, Dean,” Lucifer corrects teasingly, “the worst would be if I told Sam how much you _fucking loved_ me inside of you. And how much Castiel enjoyed watching, too. But I’m nice.”

 

“How thoughtful,” Dean answers dryly. “Why are you here like this when you could be bothering me in person?”

 

“See,” Lucifer touches his chin, “I think I’d much rather mind-fuck you. I didn’t realize how much mess was involved in actually using your body. The come was just _everywhere_.”

 

Dean lurches at that, the bile quickly rising in his stomach. Thank—someone—that it’s a dream.

 

“Great,” Dean utters, looking out the window. The landscape is gone, the trees are gone; it’s just him and Lucifer in the Impala in the middle of empty scenery.

 

“I’ll probably do it again before the apocalypse, though,” Lucifer crosses his arms, delighting in the disgust on Dean’s face. “I should maybe wear a condom next time. No idea where this guy’s dick has been. Plus, I wonder if I can accidentally get you pregnant with tiny, demon babies.”

 

Dean snorts, continuing to look out at nothing. It’s better than seeing Lucifer’s permanently self-satisfied face.

 

“Our babies would be so pretty and evil,” Lucifer clasps his palms together, “Oh, honey, can’t we make some? How ‘bout just one?”

 

Dean ignores the fear that it could possibly happen, if Lucifer so wished—man _sans uterus_ or not.

 

 

This is where the world drops off

Where the world drops off

 

 

 “There is no way,” Castiel says, “Lucifer is no longer fond of tricks and bets because he doesn’t appreciate the chance that he might actually lose.”

 

“So can’t we make him a better deal,” Sam asks, “or an alternate one. And then find a way to go back on it before the fight?”

 

“That won’t work,” Castiel states, “Lucifer is much more cunning in his ways. He’s used his past mistakes to build from.”

 

“Then what?” Sam sits down on his bed, rubbing his palms flat on his legs.

 

“I don’t know,” Castiel carefully sits on Dean’s bed, avoiding the remnants of his dried blood, “I can’t think of any way to overcome the Devil. Michael will most likely be going after your brother Adam now, and Lucifer’s plan will be a success. Adam isn’t a strong enough vessel against Dean.”

 

“I could say yes,” Sam mutters, finding the angel’s gaze, “He approached me in a bar earlier.”

 

“What will that do? Then you and Dean will both be lost if they don’t return you to your bodies after,” Castiel says, his eyes narrowing. “You can’t be Michael’s vessel. We’ll find a way to save Dean.”

 

“You just said there was no way. This way at least Dean won’t have to die alone. And you’re an Angel of the Lord, you can visit—”

 

“No!” Castiel rebukes, standing in front of Sam, his finger pointing at him accusingly, “I’ve given up everything. They know that. We know that. I’ve betrayed all that I ever knew for you two, so how can I ever return to Heaven? Tell me, Sam.” He sighs, taking a step back, “If you say yes, then I will be alone, stuck on Earth forever, with no one and _no reason_ to be alive.”

 

“Okay,” Sam clears his throat, “you’re right. It’s not fair. We’ll keep fighting and try to find some way.”

 

Sam offers an apologetic smile, and Castiel takes it, giving him one in return.

 

 

_I'm a ghost._

_You're an angel._

_We're one and the same_

_just remains of an age._

 

 

The next day, Sam wakes up in his clothes, passed out on his bed, and Castiel is lying face down on Dean’s. The back of the angel’s coat is almost entirely covered in blood; Sam can begin to understand why Dean is behaving the way he is if he had to witness that.

 

Sam drags a hand down his face, looking over at the clock; it’s nearly noon. He stretches and shifts to get out of bed, but then Castiel is watching him with wrinkles he didn’t have when they first met, and Sam’s feeling guilty for everything he said last night.

 

“I’m sorry,” Sam mutters. Castiel will have to figure out the rest.

 

Castiel nods slowly, wiping the sleep from his eyes. Sam can see better in the daylight; not all the bruises and marks from Lucifer’s _attack_ healed. He was an archangel after all.

 

Castiel seems self-conscious then, covering his black eye with his hand.

 

“Do you want something—for that—” Sam points, but stops when Castiel frowns, pulling himself into a sitting position.

 

“It is not of import,” Castiel says after a stretch of silence.

 

Sam blinks, watching the angel shrug out of his tarnished overcoat. Castiel doesn’t say anything about the staring, so Sam can’t help but keep looking. Castiel opens his dark vest next, and that’s when Sam’s gaze darts away. All of the blood, the rips, the holes, the buttons missing on his white dress shirt, make Sam wish he would have followed Dean back like he meant to. Maybe he could have prevented this.

 

“Let’s call Dean. Make sure he’s okay,” Sam says after there’s a bit too much silence.

 

Castiel nods, dropping his jacket on the bed, and hands Sam his cellphone. Sam clicks the ‘speaker’ option on so Castiel can hear, too.

 

It rings a few times, but Dean finally picks up, “Yeah?”

 

“Dean, how are you?” Sam says quickly, he can hear the impatience in Dean’s voice.

 

“Fine, Sammy,” Dean exhales, “How are you? How’s Cas?”

 

“Okay,” Sam looks over at Castiel, he nods, “Cas is okay, too.”

 

“Look, if this is to find out where I am, I’m not telling,” Dean says promptly. “I’m not coming back.”

 

“Dean, c’mon, you can’t just—”

 

“I’m sorry, but this is how it’s gonna be. At least until after The Fight,” Dean squeezes the bridge of his nose. He’s getting a headache. “If you really need me, just use Cas to find me.

 

‘Call lost’ blinks on the screen, and Sam looks over at Castiel with his brow creased. “He hung up,” Sam says.

 

“I’m not certain, but I believe he’s aware that I don’t have enough power left to find his whereabouts,” Castiel says flatly. “How can we find him?”

 

They can’t, that’s the goal.

 

 

_And you breathe in_

_And you breathe out_

_For it ain't so weird_

_How it makes you a weapon_

Dean devotes his time to taking people’s money at pool so he can live, still travelling from motel to motel. Lucifer visits, naturally, but he doesn’t appear in person. After a while, Dean gets used to his company, doesn’t really mind it as much; he welcomes the distraction of such a foreboding presence. Otherwise, all Dean thinks about is how horrific of a scene he left behind and how devastated Castiel must be. And when it isn’t that, Dean only thinks about how much he misses Sam, and then guilt sets in—fully grown and bitter. There’s guilt of how much Sam must hate him for hiding this, for hiding his affections, for hiding his sexuality, for everything.

 

 

_My whole existence is flawed_

_You get me closer to god_

 

 

Sam tries to contact Lucifer in private without telling Castiel about it, knowing it will only hurt him if he finds out. His attempts go on for a few days, until one night his dream is too realistic, and he knows it worked.

 

Lucifer is looking at his fingernails, lying down on the bed next to Sam’s, his legs crossed; he looks bored.

“I’ll be your vessel,” Sam blurts out quickly. “As long as Dean and Cas are safe, and you put off the battle with Michael.”

 

“Then what would I need your body for,” Lucifer bites his fingernail, spitting it across the room.

 

“You can just use it, and pretend it’s me,” Sam utters, hesitantly. “I don’t care as long as you let me see what you’re seeing.”

 

“Interesting,” Lucifer crosses his arms.

 

“I just don’t want the world to end. And Dean,” Sam leans against the wall, “wouldn’t that be enough to let him go free?”

 

“I’ll think about it,” Lucifer scratches his nose and disappears.

 

 

_And you give in_

_And you give out_

_For it ain't so weird_

_How it makes you a weapon_

 

 

“Dean, sweetheart,” Lucifer prods his future meat-suit, “I have news for you.”

 

“What is it now? Trying to scare me with baby-demon talk again?” Dean says dryly.

 

“No, that’s for later,” Lucifer moves closer. “Sam just offered to be my permanent vessel.”

 

Dean’s jaw would hit the floor if it could, but being in a dream, maybe it is plausible. He looks around the motel room, clenching his jaw. Of all the stupid ideas, to willingly be the Devil’s sock puppet for your lifetime had to be the worst he’d ever heard.

 

“So what do you think big brother?” Lucifer sits at the foot of Dean’s bed, running a finger down his leg. Even these small touches were really nothing to Dean anymore. “Do you think I should let you off the hook and accept him? I could be your favourite friend with benefits slash brother.”

 

“I need to call Sam,” Dean says flatly.

 

The only way to wake from one of these conversations is to either let sleep run its course, or to try and kill yourself within the dream. Dean’s not in the mood to spend another five hours in here doing whatever Lucifer has in mind. He gets off the bed, rushes to the door, and leaps from the balcony—a 5-story plummet would be enough to jolt him out of slumber.

 

And it is.

 

Dean is awake, digging for his phone in his jacket, and calling Sam before he even has his eyes fully open. Sam answers, surprised, and Dean doesn’t waste time on small talk. He jots down where Sam is staying and grabs his stuff before barreling out of the motel like it’s on fire. The last thing he says is ‘I’m in the Impala, don’t do anything stupid while I’m on my way’.

 

 

_Lost in a day dream, what do you see?_

_If you're looking for Jesus, then get on your knees._

 

 

From the time Sam hangs up, tells Castiel Dean is coming, and they both settle their nerves trying to catch some sleep, Dean is banging at the door. The rest is a blur of relief to see each other, and shock when Castiel has the bright idea of knocking Dean out with a lamp and tying him to a chair.

 

Dean’s head is aching, a throbbing pain at the front of his skull, but he’s not worried about the source so much as the result. He can recognize both voices talking and that calms him down, slightly, until he remembers where he needs to be in a week, and that he’s strapped to a chair.

 

“How will this stop Lucifer from taking over his body, Cas?” Sam asks pointedly.

 

“It won’t. It’s merely to make sure he doesn’t depart again in the middle of our conversation,” Castiel answers calmly.

 

Dean wants to rub his head, but the tie—he’s being bound so well with a flimsy piece of clothing—is too secure for him to even move his wrists. Sam finally notices Dean’s awake, and nudges for Castiel to pay attention.

 

“I know your head’s probably hurting real bad right now,” Sam starts, “but we need to discuss this whole apocalypse thing.”

 

Dean grumbles, Sam and Castiel’s faces going in and out of focus. They had really hit him hard.

 

Sam is enumerating all of the solutions he can, and it’s really not helping Dean’s possible concussion whatsoever. One thing Sam keeps telling Dean is how he can’t give up, and it bothers him each time he hears it because Sam is even more willing to drop everything, with more repercussions, than he is. Sam thinks maybe Death can help, that he has power over Lucifer. Then, that they could try to find God again, even though Castiel was unable to find him thus far. Castiel offers to find Michael and strike up a deal with him, but Sam doesn’t like how that sounds. And then Sam is considering sacrificing all their souls just to stop this fight, and that way they could all be in Heaven, but it doesn’t make sense to either man, even as the thought exits his mouth. They didn’t want to die, and they especially didn’t want to drag the other two down with them.

 

Dean continuously refuses; he knows his solution is the best and the simplest by far. Castiel and Sam were guaranteed to be safe, no matter whether Lucifer won or lost, and the world would be less damaged if Lucifer’s theory is right. And, on the other hand, Dean could take all the blame, all the punishment, if Lucifer actually went back on his word and destroyed the world, keeping Dean for eternity.

 

“Then you’re staying in this chair,” Castiel says, clearly not joking; he doesn’t know how to.

 

Sam doesn’t know what Castiel’s thinking, but it can’t be anything good after all the options Dean’s turned down.

 

“I’ll make a deal with Lucifer. I will offer my grace and my power if he ignores the fight,” Castiel adds, “I’ll go to Hell for you Winchesters, and save humanity at the same time.”

 

Sam is already shaking his head, so Dean knows they can at least agree on this being one more horrible idea to add to the growing pile.

 

Dean does _not_ like the sound of Castiel being in Lucifer’s custody one bit. It’s worse than what Sam was willing to do, not only because of where the angel would be—in the Devil’s playground, basically—but because Dean knows how much Lucifer likes Castiel. Castiel is probably aware as well, and that’s why he believes it to be an equal exchange. Lucifer would never let him go once he’s down there, and Castiel could never return to Heaven if he went along with him so willingly.

 

Dean speaks up after his chest tightens and his vision clouds over with regret from that night. He can’t let Castiel ever go through that trauma again, willing or not. He tells them he’ll stay, and they can try to find some other way to beat the Devil and the apocalypse.

 

Castiel warns Sam that it might be too soon to untie Dean, but Sam insists it’ll be fine, that Dean is going to stay and is back on their team. Unfortunately, when they wake up and Dean is gone for the second time, Sam wishes he could stop being wrong for once in his miserable life.

 

 

_Through every forest, above the trees_

_Within my stomach, scraped off my knees_

_I drink the honey inside your hive_

_You are the reason I stay alive_

 

 

With a week left before The Fight, Sam and Castiel give up trying to find Dean. He’s a lost cause, they understand that now.

 

Dean is at the battlefield, Lucifer wearing him like a gold medal. Adam is there, too, Michael’s body language permeating through his movements. They exchange words, how they hoped it wouldn’t have to be like this when they met again, but they’re both burning inside to get started so it doesn’t last long.

 

Just as Lucifer predicted, Adam is too weak of a vessel against someone like Dean who is the true form. However, when it comes to Lucifer, he’s had so much time to form a bond with Dean that their minds and souls are practically in sync, and it’s like having a second skin on. Lucifer bids his charming vessel farewell, just as he promised, and takes Michael—in Adam’s body—back to Hell like he planned to all along.

 

There’s a news report about a massive explosion that killed two or three thousand people, but nothing more. It’s a far cry from the millions who were meant to die if everything had gone according to plan. Sam is worried, nonetheless, and Castiel uses the last of his power to make sure all of the souls are in their rightful place, and not being collected by Lucifer. When he confirms that they are in Heaven, Sam begins to breathe a bit easier, even if Dean is nowhere to be found yet.

 

Dean meets Sam the next day, seemingly shaken up, but otherwise okay. He explains to Sam that he didn’t think Adam’s body would be dragged to Hell with Michael’s soul inside, and that’s why he’s been gone for a bit more time—he was trying to convince the Devil to let him go free. The rest of the day goes fairly better. Sam is safe, Dean is alive, and Castiel is weaker but not powerless.

 

It’s almost disturbing how normal things are, besides the obvious; Dean having been used as a pawn in an elaborate chess game, and Castiel no longer being able to return to Heaven. As long as Sam’s not being tormented anymore, Castiel accepts being more human than angel, and the Devil isn’t camping out in his body, Dean can deal with a few more recurring nightmares.

 

The nightmares are more sublimely vivid than anything Dean’s ever encountered, but he’s not about to disrupt the semblance of peace they’ve acquired just for some bad dreams. It’s not so bad for the first few days since he can’t remember the night terrors once he’s awake, but after a few more nights, the images from the dreams start to connect and seem increasingly familiar. And as though Dean’s been in denial the entire time, everything starts to make sense.

 

Lucifer used him for a long time, and despite only using his mind and body, Dean’s soul was never far off. Somehow, during that short period where they were connected at every point possible, Lucifer left hooks in Dean’s soul ensuring he could never fully shake him off, even when he went back to Hell to play with Michael. The next time Dean dreams, he sees exactly what’s going on, and remembers it once his eyes open in the morning.  He stares at the ceiling grudgingly piecing it all together.

 

 

_Enemy of mine_

_I'll fuck you like the devil_

_Violent inside_

_beautiful and evil_

 

 

Adam, well, technically it’s Michael deep down, was strung up by ropes at his wrists and ankles, his legs spread and his eyes covered in a dark blindfold. Lucifer was holding something slender and stiff in one hand, the other tweaking Michael’s nipple as he walked around the _display_. It started gentle at first, with soft murmurs and sweet nothings being whispered in Michael’s ear, his skin being worshipped with feathery touches and flickers of Lucifer’s tongue. Then, when he hadn’t responded strongly enough, Lucifer became impatient and scratched the skin raw, bit him in order to draw blood, and pushed the—what Dean realizes now—dildo inside of Michael without worrying about lubrication or preparation.

 

Dean turns over, ignorant to the rest of the dream. That’s more than acceptable considering the graphic nature of it and the vessel involved. He doesn’t love Adam as much as he should, but no one deserved that.

Sam is back to researching, calling Bobby once in a while for help on odder cases. Castiel is gradually letting the ways of the human world wash over him, take him over, and bring him back more open and comfortable for it. Dean, alternatively, is haunted by the torture sessions Lucifer is intent on keeping a fixed schedule for. And by schedule, it’s really just his daily pastime. Lucifer never tires of finding new ways to make Michael scream or moan, but Dean is pretty fucking tired of having to watch it every time his head touches a pillow.

 

On one particular night, perhaps Lucifer is feeling generous, or maybe he’s withholding the more violent parts, but Dean is surprised by how sensual the dream is. He knows he probably shouldn’t still be calling them dreams, but admitting it’s anything more than that would just encourage Dean to give up sleep altogether, in which case Sam would drop everything good he has going to save Dean, again. He couldn’t have that.

 

The dream, as he will continue to deem it, consists of a very naked (which Dean’s used to) Michael in Adam’s skin, bent on all fours, being thoroughly licked and spit-slicked by Lucifer’s expert tongue.

 

Dean’s eyes are open as he thinks about it, hoping it will keep his body from reacting the way Lucifer wants it to. Instead, and Dean knows it’s the Devil’s doing, it just makes the visions stronger and resound in his mind.

 

Adam’s mouth is hanging open, his fingers digging into the plush, red carpet, his legs spreading wider to allow the tongue to delve into him fully. Lucifer pushes Adam’s face against the carpet, sliding two fingers into his swollen entrance slowly, twisting them in half-circles. Adam, Michael, whomever—maybe it’s both of them—is leaking a steady flow from his cock, and Lucifer takes the pale liquid to use against the accommodating hole. Lucifer opens Michael up with his fingers until he’s crying out his brother’s name, begging for Lucifer’s cock, and Lucifer still doesn’t concede.  

 

Lucifer says that if Michael wants it so bad, he has to prove it to him explicitly. Michael is on his back in an instant, pupils dilated beyond recognition, stretching the skin so wide Lucifer can see deep inside his entrance. Lucifer watches, grinning and jerking his cock, already hovering over the sex-starved angel in human attire. Dean is trembling with the force of keeping his hands away from his own raging erection, seeing Lucifer drive into Adam’s body over and over as though he’s in the same room. Dean passes out before his fingers slip beneath his waistband.

 

Dean is panting when he wakes up again, the erection unmistakably and remarkably gone. Castiel is behind Sam, as they look at the laptop screen from across the room. They both smile at Dean, unaware of the torment he just went through. He’s thankful for that, if nothing else.

 

 

_I want to fuck you like an animal_

_I want to feel you from the inside_

_I want to fuck you like an animal_

The rest of the day is a struggle. Dean can’t close his eyes for a second without seeing or feeling the lust from that somber place in Hell. It mixes in with his thoughts and his line of sight, until it’s no longer Adam’s body being fucked hard and fast against the floor, but Sam’s. And despite what he’d answer if questioned, Dean doesn’t mind the view of that in any way. Then, as if his thoughts aren’t disorderly enough, it’s not Lucifer pinning Sam down and ramming into him, it’s Castiel. Dean nearly passes out again.

 

When he falls asleep, after much resistance, Lucifer is sitting calmly with Adam between his legs, hungry for him like the nympho he’s trained him to be.

 

“You want me to teach you how to get Sam on your cock like this?” Lucifer whispers, batting his eyes.

 

“Stop it,” Dean says, barely covering up his breathlessness.

 

“Castiel then? Or maybe both?” Lucifer beams, “It’s both, isn’t it? You little devil. No wonder I can’t keep my claws out of you even now.”

 

“Stop it!” Dean shouts.

 

Dean’s eyes snap open, but his mind still isn’t free. Maybe it’ll never be.

 

 

_Help me tear down my reason_

_help me it's your sex I can smell_

_Help me you make me perfect_

_help me become somebody else_

 

 

Sam is watching Dean when he wakes up the next morning. Castiel is watching him also, but further away. Dean flinches when Sam goes to touch his shoulder, seeing nothing but long fingers that could drive into him and shatter his self-restraint. He shakes the thought away.

 

Castiel frowns, stepping closer, his lips pursed. Dean wants them around his cock. He doesn’t. It’s not true. None of it is real. It’s the Devil messing with Dean’s thoughts, his wants, twisting them around to his whim.

 

“What’s wrong, Dean?” Castiel asks softly.

 

“Nothing,” Dean snaps automatically, not even able to control his tongue the way he wants. “Just having nightmares.”

 

“Can I help—”  Sam starts.

 

“No!” Dean retorts again. The images of Sam bent on all fours is pushing into his mind against his will. “I don’t need help. From either of you.”

 

They turn a blind eye to his outbursts for the rest of the day; Dean’s been through enough to scar ten people.

 

Dean has to work at keeping his eyes away from Sam and Castiel in general. If they clear their throat, his eyes dart to their mouths, then their Adam’s apples bobbing up and down, then their bare throats, their shoulders, and everything else lower down that he’d like to get his hands on.

 

Castiel is doing a very good job of staying out of Dean’s personal space, maybe because he can sense the tumult in him, but Dean’s body sneaks into Castiel’s space instead, wafting in the smell of his partly human, partly angelic scents blending together. His mouth waters just picturing what he’d taste like, and that’s when he forces his body out of autopilot and counts the threads of the carpet instead.

 

Sam, on the contrary, never knows what’s good for him.

 

Sam’s in Dean’s face, worried and caring, and smelling like all kinds of desperation and _fuck_ does Dean want to bend him over and break him to see what he’s really made of underneath all of this outer strength. But it’s not Dean, this isn’t how he thinks. It’s Lucifer again.

 

Dean moves away, and Sam is back, and it’s driving him up the wall with sexual frustration and anxiety. Sam is reaching out to touch his shoulder again, but Dean thinks he might twist his arm and push him down on the floor, grind against him right there, right where Castiel can see. Dean slaps the hand away as a precaution, pushing Sam with his shoulder as he passes by, rushing into the bathroom.

 

They finally leave him alone after that.

 

The haunting in his sleep is worse that night. Lucifer has Sam and Castiel tending to his every need. They bend over when he snaps his fingers, spread their legs when he asks, kiss each other senseless when he tells them to put on a show, and call out Dean’s name when they’re close to climax. Lucifer makes certain of that with a well-placed smack to their ass.

 

Dean wants to rip off his head entirely when Lucifer slips Dean into the dream. It’s quickly turning into a full-blown nightmare.

 

Even though Dean slept slightly, he feels like he hasn’t and the bags under his eyes are just proof that his body isn’t resting much when all of his blood is constantly pumping toward his groin. He can’t take another night like this, not when at any moment his seams could tear and he could be on top of any of the unsuspecting men, and not even be able to tell reality from a dream.

 

Dean turns to his oldest friend: alcohol.

 

Dean drinks enough at night so he can’t keep his arms up anymore and his legs feel like they aren’t attached to anything. Sam is mumbling some complaint, and Castiel is narrowing his eyes, but it’s all worth it if it means he can sleep without being tempted by the images Lucifer conjures up.

 

It works for an hour or Lucifer just pretended it did to give Dean false hope. Castiel is on Dean’s lap, bouncing on his cock like a cat in heat, Sam is above Dean’s head, shoving his length down Castiel’s throat, holding him in place to slide it far enough to make him choke. It’s too perfect this time, too surreal, he breaks down and begs for mercy.

 

“Please, Lucifer,” Dean pleads, “I can’t take anymore. Don’t make me watch them.”

 

Lucifer shakes his head, a snap of his fingers making the two men disappear, “You know, I wish I could, but that wasn’t part of the deal. I’m not using your body, I’m not visiting you, I’m just _sharing_. You have to let me have some fun, Dean. I’d really rather be pounding your brains out, though.” He leans over Dean on the bed, a hand on either side of Dean’s body, “You sure you don’t want that?”

 

“Isn’t there something,” Dean asks, turning to avoid the warm breath ghosting over his cheek.

 

“Like I said, let me have my way with you once in a while or deal with this for the rest of your life.” Lucifer trails his tongue along the shell of Dean’s ear, “If you’re the strong one, prove it.”

 

Maybe the reason Dean offered his body to Lucifer was because he was hopeful he wouldn’t return it and wouldn’t be faced with the constant reminder of how much he’d like to bed Sam and Castiel.

 

Sam is his brother. That should be where Dean draws the line, but his lines have been messed up since day one. Instead, he keeps in mind that he basically raised Sam, that it would be wrong of him to mess up that trust, that bond they hold so dear. It doesn’t work very well, hasn’t stopped him from waking up with soiled sheets when he’d walked in on Sam changing by accident. Dean hates the rancid flavour of that particularly, especially since that used to happen long before any deal with the Devil came to be. Sam trusts Dean with every part of him, and that includes his body, though Dean wishes he didn’t.

 

Castiel, though fairly new to his life, slipped right under Dean’s radar. He caught Dean off guard with his nurturing, stubborn, and naïve nature. He was supposed to be Dean’s guardian, but oftentimes Dean had to shield the precious angel from the world and himself. And soon, he moved up the list of Dean’s favourite people, until he was right next to Sam, nearing that dangerous zone. It all boiled over when Team Free Will came to be; Dean couldn’t ignore how much Castiel meant to him anymore. But he’s an angel—or was—and Dean is just another man with a craving for something out of his grasp.

 

Maybe there is a solution, one that Dean couldn’t undo so he doesn’t bring Sam into bed with him, so he doesn’t force himself on Castiel like Lucifer had begun to.

 

Death. And not the horseman this time.

 

If Dean’s lucky, he might still go to Heaven. If he isn’t, and has to spend eternity bending over for Lucifer, that would still be better than hating the day he born under the Winchester name. He considers a few ways that might seem like an accident; pills, alcohol poisoning, bullet wound, car accident. His best bet would probably be alcohol.

 

_Never turn your back on me_

_Never turn your back on me, again_

 

The motel room is empty; Sam gone to question the local police, and Castiel tagging along to brush up on his people skills. Dean pulls out four bottles of hard liquor, calculating how much he usually drinks compared to how much he’s about to. It should work, and if it doesn’t, he could always go outside and fire a round through his skull, making it seem like the cause was the alcohol.

 

Dean is through one bottle of 40-proof vodka when Castiel enters the motel room, without Sam luckily. Castiel looks at the row of bottles, then at the gun at the end of Dean’s bed. The safety is already off, and Dean deliberates whether he can grab it and pull the trigger before Castiel gets it out of his hands.

 

No harm in trying.

 

But Castiel is already holding it as soon as Dean stands from behind the table, clicking the safety back on.

 

“Dean,” Castiel sticks the gun in the back of his pants, stepping closer, “I understand. You don’t have to take it this far.” There’s something about how he’s looking at Dean that’s making him nervous.

 

“What do you understand? You’re an angel. You’re pure and righteous,” Dean spits, knowing Castiel is only half as strong as he once was. Dean hopes this will discourage Castiel from approaching him with that soft, loving gaze that promises all too much.

 

“I understand your feelings for me,” Castiel says calmly, bending down in front of Dean, “and I reciprocate them.” But Castiel doesn’t give up, ever.

 

 

_You let me violate you_

_You let me desecrate you_

_You let me penetrate you_

_You let me complicate you_

 

Castiel is unbuckling Dean’s belt so quickly he doesn’t have time to process what’s happening. Dean is too drunk this time to keep those delicate fingers away; he can barely keep his eyes open or his feet planted without having to concentrate. Castiel slides down Dean’s pants, looking up into Dean’s eyes for any sign that he doesn’t want this. Dean’s green is no longer jade, but a dark forest shade; Dean definitely wants this. He’s always wanted this, and the strength he’s been keeping up this whole time is nothing but a shadow.

 

Castiel drags the tight cotton down, and wraps his fingers around the base of Dean’s cock, moving forward until all Dean can see is Castiel’s stretched, eager lips, and gorgeous blue eyes. Dean’s head tips back and his hips thrust into that warmth like Castiel’s been doing this forever; taking Dean in, sucking, lathering him in saliva and lust, dragging Dean down into the deepest parts of himself.

 

Sam is outside the window, looking in, shocked, and yet, not completely. Castiel has always made it clear he and Dean had a profound bound, Sam just wasn’t sure if Dean felt it in a sexual kind of way.

 

Lucifer whispers into Dean’s ear, telling him he has a visitor, and Dean moves just enough to see Sam’s hazel eyes peering in through the closed window.

 

Knowing he’s being watched, on top of Castiel guiding him down his throat with ease, is enough to make anyone lose control of their senses. Suddenly, Dean’s hips thrust faster, his head falling back, each movement making Castiel sputter and loosen his jaw. It’s so wrong to be overtaken by lust like this because your brother is watching, but that part of Dean’s logic is gone now, and all he wants to do is make every second count.

 

Castiel pulls back, and sees Sam through the window. He tries to stand, but Dean pushes him back down, forcing his cock between those pink lips again, urging him to finish what he started. Lucifer’s influence is stronger than when he actually had control of his body. Castiel’s eyes are tearing up from trying to keep the length so far down his throat, but he lets Dean control the pace, even when the room is starting to spin from lack of air. Dean finally comes in Castiel’s mouth, pulling back enough for it splash warm on the tip of Castiel’s tongue and dribble down the side of his swollen lips.

 

Dean jolts out of Lucifer’s hold then.

 

Castiel is rubbing at his neck, panting, the corner of his eyes wet from tears. Sam is outside with his mouth agape, unable to leave, but unable to come in either. He can’t believe what he just witnessed. That isn’t Dean, not the one they both love. It’s someone else in there, walking around with his skin, doing cruel things to a fallen angel. Dean feels the judgment from Sam’s eyes without looking at him.

 

This is not who he wants to be, not around them, not when the apocalypse has come and gone.

 

Dean takes his jacket and leaves without saying anything to Castiel. Sam is in the doorway, then, trying to stop him, but he pushes past Sam without uttering a word to him either. Sam’s focus switches to Castiel still on his knees, semen dripping from his mouth as he tries to catch his breath. Sam bends down next to the angel, pulling him close, wrapping him in a tight hug. Sam rocks Castiel side to side in hopes of slowing his breathing, wiping the tears away with his thumb.

 

Castiel might need his help more than Dean does.

 

_Enemy of mine_

_I'm just a stranger in a strange land  
Running out of time_

_better go, go, go_

 

 

Dean drives for a long time. He drives until he can’t see every detail of every second he spent violating Castiel just like Lucifer had wanted. He drives until he can make sense of what occurred or at least stop pinning the blame on Lucifer when it was his _own fucking body_ that made it possible. He drives until he can drown out the nagging at the back of his skull that he’s disappointed his baby brother, again.

 

Dean ends up on the other side of the States, in a different time zone entirely. And there he is, in the middle of Alabama, without his wallet. It’s okay, really, Dean tells himself, until the notion of dying in the middle of nowhere like this becomes almost factual. Then, it’s not okay anymore; he doesn’t want to die without putting up a fight, without it being his goddamn choice. He doesn’t want to die period, but it looks like that’s what’s going to happen.

 

The more Dean stays in the Impala, the less energy he has, and the more hungry he becomes, needing vitamins and nutrients and calories. But it’s like a vicious cycle, and the more he thinks about food and water, the less he can make his brain cooperate and come up with a proper solution. 

 

Dean looks at the bright side—the only positive—he isn’t around anyone he could hate himself for assaulting.

 

“Dean,” Lucifer mutters in Dean’s mind, “what’s happened to you? You’re no fun like this.”

 

Rubbing his eyes, Dean looks around the Impala to see if he might be close enough for Dean to strangle the hell out of him. Pun intended. But of course Lucifer’s safe, back in his fiery home, torturing and raping, and destroying all that was once good inside Michael.

 

“I wanted you to fight back, Dean,” Lucifer snarls, “not die here like some loser. And if you die, you’ll go to Heaven.” He sighs. “I’m done playing with you.”

 

It sounds like another trick, but Dean can’t be certain if it is or not.

 

“What do you mean?” Dean has to know, needs to know if he’s ever going to be free.

 

“I had my fun with you, but now you’re boring. I’m going to find someone else. Enjoy dying out in the middle of nowhere, Dean,” he cackles. “Oh, and, thanks for the memories.”

 

“What? Are you serious? After all the things you put me through?!” Dean shouts.

 

But there’s no response. Dean can’t even sense Lucifer in any way, doesn’t feel like he’s being controlled. He just feels hungry and lonely. Dean never thought he’d be forgotten like this, for such a volatile reason.

 

After a while, Dean falls asleep, and he’s surprised and relieved to be in a regular hunter dream. Sam and Castiel are with him, chasing down a vampire or a werewolf—he can’t see it properly—and they’re strong and fully clothed and _normal_. Dean’s so happy to have a dream that isn’t filled with sex and blood that he tries to keep himself in it longer, craving this world, not wanting to return to the one where he hurt all of the people he loved.

 

“Dean,” says a familiar voice, “Wake up, Dean.”

 

Dean grumbles, forcing his mind to ignore his name and that voice, and just enjoy this fake world for the rest of his godforsaken life.

 

“Dean,” the voice sounds angered, old, wise. “I will not return if you do not wake up.”

 

Opening one eye, Dean nearly falls out of the Impala when he sees who is next to him, crunching on pickle chips.

 

“Finally,” Death wipes his hands on a napkin. “Before you ask, I wanted to return the favour for the delicious chips you bought me last time we spoke. I’ll be leaving now.” He crumples the bag in his palm, “Oh, and, be more careful about who you choose as your allies in the future, Dean.”

 

Dean looks around, feeling less drowsy, but just as lost and abandoned. And then he sees a neon sign, and realizes it’s the motel he was just staying at before—all of this.

 

Although Sam may forgive him, he doesn’t expect Castiel to, and if that’s the case, he can just leave again—with his wallet this time, and a bit more _authority_ over his thoughts.

 

It’s a strenuous, heart wrenching walk across the street and up those stairs. Sam could be long gone by now, perfectly content to be left alone with Castiel for the rest of their existence. Dean considers for a moment that, perhaps, he should leave them be, let them work things out for the time being. But he would still need to get his wallet even in that scenario.

 

Dean takes a deep breath, then another, and realizes it isn’t such a good idea because he hasn’t eaten in days and the air filling him up is making his stomach think food is arriving, and then his stomach protests when it discovers it isn’t. At least his body is mostly back to normal.

 

Sam opens the door as soon as Dean is about to knock, and Dean offers him a hesitant smile, worrying his lip. Sam drags him inside, squeezing so hard Dean feels like his chest is caving in, but can’t help but appreciate the gesture, even if it’s only been days since they last saw each other. It’s the thought behind it that makes Dean nearly crumble, the knowledge that Sam doesn’t hate him, accepts him for his mistakes (and are they _numerous_ ), still loves him despite all of the misery he put him through.

 

“I’m sorry,” Dean says, pulling away, “I’m really sorry, Sammy.”

 

“I know,” Sam looks away to wipe the tears from his eyes. He thinks Dean will poke fun at him for crying so easily, but instead, Dean is tearing up, too.

 

Dean sniffles and clears his throat, pretending it’s just a cold. He looks around the room, “Where’s Cas? Did he—”

 

“He has nowhere to go, Dean,” Sam says softly, “He’s in the bedroom. You should talk to him.”

 

Dean nods, walking towards the back of the room. It’s dimly lit, but he can see the shape of someone sitting hunched over on the bed; it must be Castiel.  He pushes the door open further to allow Castiel the time to acknowledge his presence, but he doesn’t move.

 

“Cas?” Dean says quietly. “I just wanted to—”

 

Castiel is standing, pressing against him, fisting into Dean’s—most likely dirty—shirt, his face hidden in the crook of Dean’s neck. His body is shaking with, what Dean can only assume is, a flood of emotions.

 

Anger.  Relief. Sadness. Regret.

 

All three of them are going through these same feelings, some perhaps more strongly, but they’re all there nonetheless.

 

Dean pets Castiel’s hair for what seems like the first time in his life, and although he’s touched him in ways he’d never dreamed of, seen him bare and destroyed before his eyes, this is infinitely more intimate than any of those occasions.

 

Dean likes the way the strands twirl around his fingers, how Castiel leans in for more of the contact, how his tears catch on the fabric of Dean’s shirt, and then don’t when he’s finally calmed down. That’s his favourite part.

 

Castiel looks up then; his eyes are navy and clear, and so _fucking stunning_ Dean feels like he’s been bestowed the greatest privilege of them all—forgiveness by an Angel of the Lord. The details didn’t matter.

 

Castiel opens his mouth to say something, but Dean speaks first, “I’m sorry. I can’t even tell you how much, Cas,” he looks away, those eyes pulling him in, immersing him in warmth he doesn’t deserve. “I just hope one day you can forgive me for everything.”

 

“I will,” Castiel answers quickly, “I can see you’ve changed. You’re back to the man I fell in love with.”

 

Team Free Will is back in business.

 

 

_Here by my side, it's Heaven_

 

Dean still thinks about what it would be like to touch Sam sometimes, but that was always something in the back of his mind. It wasn’t a new concept Lucifer had created; all he did was reinforce what already existed. He knows he can deal with it, get through it, especially with an ex-angel around to keep him in check, especially since his life is starting to make sense again.

 

They take cases, harder ones, strange ones, and Dean isn’t worried about slipping up and trying to seduce Sam. He’s busy dealing with the monsters he never heard of and trying to redeem himself for Castiel’s sake. Sam is a bit withdrawn, but it’s normal after all they’ve been through. Castiel is barely an angel, and, for reasons unknown to Dean, he seems happier as a human on Earth with them.

 

Sam wakes in a cold sweat a few nights in a row, but doesn’t tell Dean about it; he knows all the wounds it will reopen for his brother. He keeps it to himself, not bothering them with it, not now, not right away. A week passes, and the vivid dreams start, the transpiring, and then the fantasies—that really should _not_ be considered that. He sees Castiel on a bed, bleeding and still, Lucifer above him smirking like the monster he is. Dean is on the next bed, crying and in agony, but not stopping the Devil because he feels utterly powerless, but also because he secretly wants it.

 

Another week passes and the fantasies shift, becoming more real, more palpable.

 

_You like it don’t you, Sam. We both know Dean did. And you know what? Your demon blood makes this little trick of mine so much more effective, Sammy._

That’s enough. Sam knows that voice, knows what he’s capable of, remembers the _thing_ he turned Dean into in a matter of weeks. But, it’s already been weeks for Sam, too.

 

Dean leaves the hotel room to fill up the Impala with gas for when they go to the next town. He smiles at Sam and Castiel on the way out, whistling as he walks down the stairs.

 

There’s a smirk on Sam’s lips that shouldn’t be there; it’s too tight, too forced, not his own. Sam closes his eyes, and when he reopens them, he’s putting the chain of the motel room door on, stalking towards Castiel in the bathroom.

 

Castiel looks up and recognizes the darkness instantly.

 

Sam is dragging him, throwing him on the bed, and licking his lips before Castiel can find a weapon to stop him with. When Sam’s eyes go black, Castiel’s belt flies off and wraps around his neck, keeping him from screaming.

 

Sam waited too long to speak up.

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently, it is very difficult for me to write short stories.
> 
> Please leave me a comment? (Even if I scarred you....)


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